Quest Magazine

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Finseth, Robyn Lawrence. "The Look of Love: A Theosophist's Vision" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 68 - 71

By Robyn Lawrence Finseth 

Love is a spontaneous feeling experienced not intellectually but emotionally. It can most eas­ily be felt when seeing a child or animal—a feeling that simply takes over the person who is observing. It is a moment when all feels right with the world. Time no longer seems to exist, and the world feels as if it is moving in slow motion. 

As Theosophists, we accept and understand the reality of the aura. I was born with the gift of clairvoy­ant sight in a Theosophical family. I was guided in my youth by the naturopath Harry van Gelder; his sister, Dora Kunz, past president of the Theosophical Society in America; and my Theosophical family at the Port­land Lodge. It is from this gift of sight that I address the concept of love as it is represented in the aura or subtle body.

According to Webster's dictionary, love is the "strong affection for . . . or attachment to . . . or devo­tion to a person or persons." Psychologists define love as the mutual attraction between two people. This often develops in three phases: initial attraction followed by attachment and commitment. Psychologists also point out that love stimulates the release of certain chemicals in the brain, such as dopamine, which arouses pleasure and motivation. Dopamine in turn stimulates emotional reactions, which are governed by the part of the brain known as the amygdala, and hence dictates the color of the aura.

The best book on auras was written by Dora Kunz and is entitled The Personal Aura. This book contains many illustrations depicting the subtle bodies of the aura, attempting to give the unsighted person the con­cept of exactly what a variety of emotions look like.

Let's look first at the representation of the aura of a pregnant woman. This plate shows the color of a delicate pink both above and below the green band at the woman's center. This rep­resents both the love of her family and the love of the unborn child. Although this plate shows a woman who is seven months pregnant, even at an earlier stage the vibrational energy between mother and unborn child is quite similar. When I am looking at an actual pregnant woman, there is a distinct look of the child, seen as a large, whirling presence, a difficult look to create in a two-dimensional form. The colors of both mother and child complement each other. 

In actuality, these colors are cloudlike, ever moving, while always keeping a shape that remains in approxi­mation to the body mass. The pink in this image has a quality of protection between mother and child, creating a slightly darker tint. It is sometimes hard to describe the exact look, as it is the feel of the aura that is really the most significant part. A woman who has carried a child understands completely what I have just described. It is an exquisite feeling that cannot be duplicated. For most of us, our lives begin swaddled in love, caressed in the womb, wishing to be born. We enter this life into the loving arms of parents, grand­parents, and significant adults who want nothing more than to share in the glory of life. It is from this early childhood experience by which most of us understand the concept of love.

Love is an interesting emotion, as it has the ability to be greater than its source; it spreads from the aura like a blanket. Not all emotions spread like love. All emo­tions have a color, a feel, and a sense, but very few have the ability to go past their surroundings.

Another plate worth noting shows a painter. Notice the mixture of green with pink; the pink looks like a "V" intersecting her heart and head. This shows the individual's love, and the sheerness of the pink indicates that this is a love she can easily experience.

Pure love isn't just pink; there is also a purple haze throughout it. The feeling is of unconditional accep­tance of the universe and of life. The 1907 edition of C.W. Leadbeater's Man Visible and Invisible contains a plate on its frontispiece portraying the color associ­ated with each emotion. (Later editions of the book may not include this illustration.) Two of the tint blocks, "Unselfish Affection" and "Love for Humanity," show the pink and the purple I am talking about. Remem­ber these colors are like a cloud, present and yet ever changing. It is the feel of the pink that allows you to understand the connection you have with another per­son and/or the universe.

The love of objects is really not love at all but pos­sessiveness. Its color is a sharp ugly red—nothing pretty to look at or feel. It is often laced with either a coarse dark brown or black if the individual's desire is more sinister. This can also be seen in an abusive rela­tionship between people who are caught in the trap of need versus want. One member of the relationship needs the other member to want him or her. This need is not love but rather ownership, isolation, and greed. The color of this is not pink or purple, but rather a brownish red. Again, the frontispiece in Man Visible and Invisible shows these colors in the tint blocks entitled "Selfishness," "Avarice," and "Selfish Affection." This can also appear as an ugly red spot­ted brown, as in "Jealousy." The interesting thing about these auras is that the colors seem to permeate the whole being; possession, need, desire, and lust seem all to go together.

Lust should not be mistaken for love. The color associated with lust is a bright ruby red (rather like the color of a geranium), often seen as a wide slash or band running diagonally through the middle of the aura. This band tends to flash as the desire increases. The color of lust is bright, often melding with the object of the attrac­tion, and completely obliterating any other thoughts or desires. The color of anger (a deep red marbled with black) tends to encompass the entire aura. There is a hint of orange with the red, again with brown or black marbling throughout.

Loving nature often has the combination of pink with a tint of bluish purple. The color represents the love and appreciation of scenery as a whole or of plants individually. The nature spirits respond to this attention and use the plants' beauty to attract attention to them. When you are outside working with plants, the nature spirits tend to be more excited and work with you to achieve what is necessary if you are enthusiastic about what you are doing. Your random thoughts are really not so random. The plant itself radiates a stronger aura just from loving ministrations; it is the silent language of intent that is expressed. When you are working with nature in this way and you feel inclined to trim a limb or move a plant, it is the nature spirit in charge of the area that helps you make the necessary decisions. If, however, you are working outside as a chore, the nature spirits are not quite so accessible. The color of your aura will probably not be pink or green (the colors often associated with loving a task) but brown-red or even black if you are really unhappy about the chores. If you feel this way, my suggestion is to leave your garden and either hire someone to do the work or come out another day.

I can always tell the yard that is done for the sake of beauty rather than of love. There are still some nature spirits around the garden done for the sake of beauty, but they are more detached and understand that they cannot communicate with the person who is garden­ing; they appear more indifferent. By contrast, the yard filled with love is often weedier, overgrown, and strag­gly. Often these yards are filled with nature spirits and abound both with ground spirits or gnomes and air spirits or fairies. 

Walking the beach and enjoying the surf, especially when the beach is mostly clear of pollutants, is a form of love. As you admire the beauty, the water sprites that are closest to the shore send a spicule (for lack of a bet­ter word) to connect with your loving thoughts, It is interesting to walk the Oregon coast, where the sprites are quite easy to contact. There is an exchange between the people who are truly enjoying the sound and feel of the surf and those who are just ignoring it. As I look out on to the surf and send out a loving appreciation of the beauty, the sprites in turn send me a spicule. It is this magnificent connection that you can feel in your heart and lasts for just a moment, but they, too, are receiv­ing the benefit of your loving thoughts. The color is a shimmery gold-white. It is hard to describe this "shot" of energy, but the feeling is one of a loving connection.

Love in meditation is pure pink with purple mar­bling throughout. It is often achieved more easily in a group meditation than singly. The purpose behind such a meditation is to open oneself to the universe, allowing the love of the humanity to flow in and out of self. The devas involved in this process are often associated with the surroundings. For instance, whenever I have partic­ipated in a love meditation at the Theosophical Camp Indralaya on Orcas Island, Washington, it is the camp deva to which we direct the energy, who in turn directs the same energy to the surrounding devas and then blankets the area with the loving connection between all kingdoms. I remember Dora suggesting many times that you use the camp in meditation when you are home again, as it helps feed the camp's beauty; you are also connecting on an ethereal basis with those who are joining you. She also suggested to a group to repeat the phrase, "I am the light." Whenever I say these words, I feel the love and light behind the intent.

In conclusion, the true color of love is a pink that shimmers as if there is a sun behind it. When you are experiencing a true love connection, the color not only floods your aura, it spreads to the surrounding com­munity. The attraction of love is magnetic and encom­passes those around us, transcending time and space.

Sources

Amen, Daniel G. Change Your Brain, Change Your Body. New York: Three Rivers, 2010.

Kunz, Dora van Gelder. The Personal Aura. Illustrations by Juanita Donahoo. Wheaton: Quest, 1991.

Leadbeater, C.W Man Visible and Invisible: Examples of Different Types of Men as Seen by Means of Trained Clairvoyance. 2d. ed., revised. London: Theosophical Publishing Society, 1907.

ROBYN LAWRENCE FINSETH, M.S., D.C., is a practicing chiropractic physician in Oregon. She has lectured and taught at Camp Indralaya and at the TS's national headquarters in Wheaton. Her life focus has always been connected to healing.

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Nesky, Andrew. "Kundalini and the Chill" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 64 - 67 

By Andrew Nesky III

The Sanskrit word "kundalini" is literally trans­lated as "coiled." The word is found principally in the lexicon of yogic and Tantric practice and refers to a latent energy or consciousness that resides at a point approximately at the base of the spine. It is usually pictured as either a "coiled serpent" or a "god­dess." In either context it is considered feminine and is related to unconscious, instinctive, and/or libidinal forces. 

Some yogic and Tantric traditions claim that this force can be "awakened" by various means, a moment at which it will "uncoil" and begin its ascension to its "lover" (or polar counterpart), which resides at an area approximately at the top of the head. When the ascen­sion is completed, the union of these sympathetic forces is thought by some to produce an illuminated human being. 

Actual, documentable accounts of kundalini ascen­sion are very difficult to come by, a fact that has created a field ripe for speculative and distorted descriptions of the process. In response, this article speaks directly to the realities of this ancient and important human pos­sibility through a first-person account, incorporating events that were witnessed by others who can verify that many of the external phenomena actually took place. 

The event happened when I was in my mid-thirties. It was the second of two life-changing transits that seemed to come from nowhere. This nowhere was within the most personal of all experiences—the act of having sex. While in retrospect it seems a natural culmi­nation of spiritual and psychic processes that had begun during my twenties, this kundalini experience was as uncultivated and unexpected as any other miracle.

While I have been asked to avoid graphic sexual descriptions of the triggering event, I want to say that I believe that specifics of posture, position, and action are key to the process. It is further important to say that the sexual energy was extreme and unquenchable. As the event moved to its conclusion, I felt something that I took for the onset of an orgasm. It was deeper than I'd ever felt before, and began at a place I would later identify as the bottom of my tailbone. It started a pleasing warm glow that began in a very small but then progressively expanded. The sensation very pleasant and unlike anything I'd ever experienced. I was preparing myself for what I was sure was my climax when suddenly I felt the "ball of energy" liquefy and begin to move up my spine.

The liquid energy seemed to be traversing a channel that followed the path of my spine and whose rear radius extended beyond the limits of my physical body. As it started to move, my erection collapsed without discharge.

The energy continued its upward movement until suddenly it seemed to encounter a block at the approximate level of my heart. I felt the pressure build until the barrier broke, which freed it to continue its upward path. 

I was sure I was having some sort of stroke and was concerned that if the process reached my brain would die. At about this moment, the upward-moving force encountered another barrier at the level of neck. This barrier was much denser, causing the energy to exert more and more pressure. I called out to confused partner to rub my neck. During the neck rub, I felt the energy push past the blockage and begin streaming into something that felt like a chamber at the top of my head. It was as if an area between the top my brain and the underside of my skull were lined with a bladder that was being filled. As the energy entered the receptacle, I felt the cavity expand to accommodate it. I genuinely thought I might die. 

The energy continued to flow until it seemed to completely occupy the space—and then stopped. At first the resulting pressure was very uncomfortable. While experienced this discomfort in my head, my body felt as if it had been pinned to the bed. Like a boxer who finds himself on his back after a particularly hard punch, I couldn't move my arms or legs. After some time passed, I was able to roll off the bed and crawl to the bathroom, where the hot tub of water I'd asked my partner to pre­pare waited for me. I soaked until the water started to become cold and then found that I could stand and walk. As hours passed, the pressure at my crown con­tinued, but with some over-the-counter painkillers the sensation was bearable. After a few days passed, I no longer required the medication. After a few weeks, I realized the energy would be staying in what seemed to be its new home.

During this initial period, I suspected that I had had a stroke. I spoke to my doctor and he prescribed a CT scan, but there were no anomalies. Finally he told me he had no diagnosis and had never heard of anything that could explain the symptoms I told him about. 

Beside the addition of the new energetic form in my crown, I found that my body had experienced several other changes. My "chill reflex" —the tingle that starts at the base of the spine and works its way to the top of the head—would never be the same; it was as if the most important part was no longer in it. I would also never again feel the tingle that indicated the chill had made it to the top of my head; that space now belonged to the energy that was residing there. My orgasm also changed: it was less intense, and the tingle that used to occur at the top of my crown was no more.

As of this writing, the energy has spent over a decade in its new habitation. It becomes active (with a sort of glow that is felt rather than seen) when I meditate or otherwise focus my attention on it. The rest of the time it is known only by the ever-present background pres­sure that is a constant reminder of its initial ascension. 

When it became apparent that there was no medical explanation for my condition, I began to look to esoteric literature. I thought it possible that I had experienced a kundalini ascension, but I had little information about such things. Until that time I was convinced that a kundalini experience was just another metaphorical description of the process of enlightenment — a process I associated with expansion of awareness and states of bliss. I had no clue that a kundalini awakening could result in the sort of physical symptoms I had felt. Since any sense of the universe expanding was absent in my experience (I had already had such experiences dur­ing an expansion of awareness that had happened in my twenties), it seemed unlikely that kundalini could explain anything at all. And then I found the Indian mystic Gopi Krishna.

In his book Living with Kundalini Gopi Krishna recounted an experience that happened during his meditation practice when he was thirty-four. I imme­diately saw that his experience had many parallels with mine. Here is his description of the beginning of the event:

I suddenly felt a strange sensation below the base of the spine, at a place touching the seat . . . The sensation was extraordinary and so pleasing that my attention was forc­ibly drawn towards it.

Here is the description of the ascension when the force reached his brain:

Suddenly, with a roar like that of a waterfall, I felt a stream of liquid light entering my brain through the spinal cord.

And this describes his physical state when the event concluded:

When I opened my eyes and looked about, I felt a little dazed and bewildered, as if coming back from a strange land completely foreign to me ... I tried to lift my hands ... my arms felt limp and lifeless. With an effort I raised them up and stretched them to enable the blood to flow freely. Then I tried to free my legs from the posture in which I was sitting and to place them in a more comfort­able position, but could not. They were heavy and stiff. With the help of my hands I freed them and stretched them out, then put my back against the wall, reclining in a position of ease and comfort.

Further in my search for understanding I discov­ered the Hindu-Jain "sex" temples at Khajuraho, India. It quickly became clear that the hundreds of sexual images on the walls of the medieval religious buildings depicted the energetic process of sex but not orgasm. Could my own experience of delaying orgasm have accidentally triggered the lofty ancient purpose of Tan­tric sexual practice?

As I persevered in my investigation, I began to real­ize that the kundalini event had miraculously focused and connected many phenomena in my past that had before seemed disparate and scattered. 

At a very young age I became conscious of my chill reflex, I also noticed that it was triggered by thrilling or terrifying events. During my observations, I found the effect could be stifled or expanded. Eventually I learned to create the reaction at will.

I don't know exactly why I was drawn to explore it; possibly I just enjoyed the way it felt. When it came spontaneously, I tried to see how I could move or change it. Or, when I felt the desire, I would trigger and play with it for no reason at all. I found my first real use for it in my mid-teens, when I discovered acting. Since I knew this chill was something that occurred naturally at extreme moments, I began to experiment with creat­ing the effect at times my character was supposed to be experiencing extreme things. Although I intuited that this was a very appropriate thing to do, I really didn't have any objective feedback that it did anything at all for an audience. I'd guessed that it somehow amplified an emotion, yet while I received accolades and awards for my dramatic work during that period, I really didn't know if using the effect added anything at all to my characterizations.

Eventually I started to experiment with applying the chill to theatrical moments that would not naturally summon such a response. When I did this, I started to gain more insight into how it might work. For instance, if I summoned it before walking on stage as a master of ceremonies, I felt my on-stage energy go through the roof. During this experimentation I made a conscious effort to use it (or not) for similar events and came to believe that when I used it I definitely had more of the audience's attention then when I didn't. And yet I still had no real objective result that I could use to prove its value to anyone but myself. 

Further discoveries were largely absent during my college years, with one notable exception. During an acting class I was made aware of a method actor's stage triumph, which came from impeccably moving his audience during a scene in which he portrayed his character's suicide. Critics marveled at the chills they experienced as they watched his character move to his demise. When the actor was asked how he achieved his result (the moment was largely nonverbal, so there was little he could do with his voice to bring about the audi­ence's reaction), he explained that during his prepara­tion he realized he needed to understand how it felt to commit suicide. Since it was not expedient to actually kill himself, he created a kind of proxy experience using his bathroom shower. First he convinced himself that if the water from the icy cold shower touched him, he would die. He then ritualistically disrobed, stood under the shower head, and then "pulled the trigger" on the cold water.

He memorized his body's responses to this as well as the changes in his psychological states; he then attempted to reproduce the changes as a means to non-verbally communicate his character's suicide.

I understood immediately that doing what he did excited the same energies I was already exploring. The actor had used external means to excite the same effect I was becoming more and more competent at creat­ing with my mind. This was the first major validation that this unseen energy could move other people who had no clue it was in use. Yet for all the information I gained, I was completely unaware that this "suicide" was energetically very similar to processes that can cre­ate higher states of consciousness—a reality that would be very prominent in my near destiny.

In fact this theatrical lesson epically foreshadowed events that would expand my awareness by showing me the reality of a much larger universe. Before this period in my life I hadn't much use for nonmainstream thought. I was very engaged in the "reality" of com­merce and sought my destiny within its processes. Like a soldier, armed with the certainty of my perspective and buttressed with a great deal of energy for execut­ing its mandates, I assaulted the world in a way that I was sure would reap the rewards that were coming to me. Yet by my late twenties I was in a death struggle with unexpected and oppressive forces that were much more powerful than my ability to counter them. Having pushed my reality to its breaking point, I found myself in deep, dark, and painful meditation. It wasn't long before I came to the clear revelation that my impression of the universe did not work. I had decided that such a reality was not worth living. I was seconds away from physically acting on this decision when a miracle stilled my hand—a miracle that descended from nowhere and pulled me into a much larger universe. 

Unlike the character in the play, I had survived the dangerous penetration of my habitual way of looking at myself without physical suicide. I had discovered the irony that in many important ways the transit to a higher consciousness is very similar to suicide, except that what must die is the limited perception that unen­lightened consciousness mistakes for its universe. Unfortunately for most people this consciousness is solidly identified with their body. Thus when growth occurs beyond this immature stage of being, they often mistake the living body for their illusory identity—a mistake that easily causes them to aim their energy for transformation at the wrong target. Instead of using this intense evolutionary force to break the cocoon of ego-enforcing illusion, many mistakenly point the force at the living body that is identified with the illusion—and physical suicide is often the result. In my case I found that when this dangerous process had settled, I had for­ever escaped the limits of identity and was grounded in life's larger dimensions. As I fell into the blissful rev­elations gained from the unfolding heightened states of consciousness, I felt extended (but otherwise familiar) spontaneous chills.

The years after the initial awakening were a pro­found period of discovering the much larger universe I had fallen into. I energetically read all sorts of spiri­tual writings and philosophical and religious texts. Eventually I frequented a few esoteric and philosophi­cal organizations—subsequently staying to help lead at least two. 

During this initial period after my revelations, my first personal, objective evidence of the chill's effect on others showed itself. I was about to engage in a theatri­cal process, and as part of my preparation I brought the energy from the chill response up with all the force I could muster and then did everything possible to keep it going. A female friend standing next to me was chew­ing gum. When I was ready to move toward the place where I would sing, she opened her mouth and showed me that her chewing gum had turned to powder in her mouth. Although I never told her what I was doing (or when I was doing it), we were able to achieve the same "powdering" effect on several more occasions.

During this time I also noticed that something tangi­ble was beginning to radiate from my hands—an energy that other people could often feel. Although I had no clue what it could do, I delighted in involving others in my experimentation. I would begin by clasping my hands together and briefly rubbing them as if I were preparing to grip something heavy. I would then hold one of the hands (usually my right) over another per­son's upturned palm at a distance of two or three inches. Once it was in position, most people felt their skin begin to warm under my hand. As soon as this warmth pre­sented itself, both the observer and I could often feel a "pressure" that was felt to move in unison with my hand as I moved it back and forth and side to side.

It was about this same time that I would combine the chill effect with the effect of projecting the energy from my hands to enhance and magnify my presence at times of prayer. I made a practice of trying to keep the effect going as long as possible. I also started to become aware that the energy emanating from my hands had healing properties that could sometimes bring relief to other people's maladies. This was my state of being at the time the kundalini event occurred. 

A great difference between Gopi Krishna's experi­ence and my own is that his event started a very prob­lematic and dangerous period of his life. According to his account he drifted in and out of psychotic states and was often unable to feed himself. It took years before he was able to find enough balance to live a normal life. Perhaps I avoided the years of problems he expe­rienced because I had been unconsciously strengthen­ing myself and encouraging the experience since my childhood. Conversely, perhaps my kundalini ascension happened as some sort of a completion of the psychic transformations that were already well underway— or perhaps it is my destiny to experience similar sorts of complications at some time in the future. Whatever its final disposition, I recount my events now because I want to offer knowledge of this effect to others. I also hope to encourage a dialogue that may help me to gain further insight into my own process.

Andrew Nesky III is the president of the Theosophical Society in Pittsburgh. He has twice been elected to the position of Master of a Masonic Lodge and is a published writer. As an actor he has appeared in hundreds of performances on regional stages; he also lectures on metaphysics and human development and has coached high-school competitive public speaking. Andrew hosted the Webcasted talk show "Science and the Outer Streams," which investigates the frontiers of human thought, science, and spirituality; it can be viewed on YouTube by using the key words "Outer Streams:'

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Levine, Arlene Gay. "What I Know about Love: The Making of a Mystic" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 62 - 63. 

 By Arlene Gay Levine

People tend to analyze love, calling it by various names: unconditional, patriotic, maternal, erotic, platonic, andsoon. Yet how can we accept any one aspect as a definition of love itself? If you are lucky enough to catch sight of a rainbow, you do not wish to stop and scruti­nize where a certain color begins and another ends. 

Love is the most complex word I know and the sim­plest. There are so many ways to understand and expe­rience it, yet for me the very first time I felt fully loved became the barometer for everything I would identify in this way afterwards. I was about six years old, sitting on my front porch around dusk, feeling, paradoxically, very unloved. My physician father was in his office busy with patients, my mother was ensconced in the kitchen with her radio and the dishes for company, my sister and brother were off in their rooms doing who knew what, and no friends were outside at that moment either. I began to stare at the sky, just then morphing from blue to purple; it matched my mood.

My young mind, caught up in the illusion of lone­liness, began to think how unfair it was that no one seemed to care about me. An enormous longing welled up in what I now know to be the area of my heart chakra. Overwhelmed, I cried quietly for a while until my anger at what I believed to be the injustice of a world so willing to abandon me was sated. Then, empty of that pain, I simply sat and observed. 

The theatre of vast blue fading fast, casting new shades of splendor on the moments-ago-green grass was a magic show, punctuated here and there by grace­ful dancers, trees bowing in the early evening breeze. This same gentle wind caressing my cheek drew me into the performance. Time passed unnoticed. A sooth­ing chant from the insect chorus playing background music for the gradual descent of the sun easily replaced my earlier sense of separateness with a new and com­forting feeling: oneness with my surroundings. Breath­ing deeply of earthy incense, I belonged to this world and it belonged to me.

Though I would not have described it in these words at the time, I felt a part of it all, safe, loved, and cared for by something larger than I had ever imagined before. The cavity of my chest filled with a kind of glow that grew as I sent my love back to the sights, fragrance, feelings, and sounds that had inspired this unity. In the act of appreciating and mirroring creation's beauty back to itself, I had my first experience of what I believe to be love.

As I grew up, it became apparent that every day is full of opportunities for giving and receiving, moving from our loneliness as humans to find deeper forms of connecting with each other and the world that sur­rounds us. It is as if on this planet there really are only two rooms; in the first, we dwell together, and in the other we are essentially alone.  

There is much beauty and also great sorrow in the latter abode. No matter how many souls come and go or how much they may mean to us, those cherished ones are like the golden leaves of autumn, sweet corn con­sumed, or the passing scent of rose on a warm summer afternoon—all lovely, all transient. Yet in love's room, alive with a blaze more brilliant than the sun, we are one: a part of love as well as everything that is, was, or will be.  

Every day we wake up with a chance to see the world, to inhabit this room, in a new way. With dis­cipline and an enduring longing, we can follow the clues that reveal why the bursting heart of childhood is so soon stilled by those who had their innocence—their innate, intuitive link with the divine as it mani­fests here on earth and beyond—early tampered with too. As we flow from youthful phases to more enlight­ened levels, our lives are like unwrapping a gift that a dear one has exquisitely sequestered in plain sight. This dear one is Spirit, and the layers of illusion are lifted through the lessons involved in living our days, generously nurtured by a rich and often difficult har­vest, until we grow into our authentic Self, who is none other than love.  

 Arlene Gay Levine, author of Thirty-Nine Ways to Open Your Heart: An Illuminated Meditation (Conan Press) and Movie Life (Finishing Line Press), has had poetry appear in many venues, including The New York Times, an off-Broadway show, and on CD. She served as a judge in the 2011 and 2012 Illinois State Poetry Society Contest. Her article "Seasonal Poetry: A Path through the Woods" appeared in Quest, Spring 2011. Visit her Web site at www.arlenegaylevine.com/.

Printed in the Spring 2013 issue of Quest magazine. 
Citation: Christensen, David. "Gay and Lesbian Love" Quest  101. 2 (Spring 2013): pg. 59 - 61.

By David Christensen

To sit down and write an article on love is a daunting task. With so many authors and great books providing interpretations of love and all that goes with it, who am Ito presume I can add to such a bibliography? Well, I'm a gay man who has experienced same-sex love.

I am also a man who has had meaningful, non­sexual, loving relationships with people of both gen­ders. As I see it, love is love and can exist with or without sex. But this article is about exploring love in the gay and lesbian community, so let me address this directly.

To begin with, let's review some familiar terms. Gay is a word that has become synonymous with homosex­ual (to the annoyance of some) and is often used for both sexes. However, many female homosexuals prefer the word lesbian, so in this article I use both terms. Although gays and lesbians as groups each have some unique issues, I'm not going to address those here, because I feel the basic subject of homosexual love applies to both gays and lesbians.

Out, as in being out or coming out, refers to being open about one's gay or lesbian sexuality—to oneself, to a person, or to a group.

Being closeted or in the closet refers to hiding one's gay or lesbian sexuality.

Homophobia refers to a range of negative attitudes and feelings toward homosexuals, such as antipathy, contempt, prejudice, aversion, irrational fear, and hatred.

For a general perspective on homosexuality, let's look at these facts. The American Community Survey of the 2000 U.S. census estimated that in the top ten U.S. metropolitan areas ranked by population, 5.8 to 15.4 percent of the population identify themselves as gay, lesbian, or bisexual. Of course, making such an estimate is particularly challenging with this population, since many people are not comfortable with their sexuality and so wouldn't admit they were homosexual when asked, even if they were out to themselves. Tak­ing an average of 10 percent, this would mean there are about 30 million in the United States. Just to bring these statistics closer to home, in the Theosophical Society worldwide there would be perhaps 2600 (given an esti­mated membership of 26,000).

So homosexuals are obviously a minority, but a dif­ferent kind of minority—one that's often unseen. If as a gay man I choose to hide my gayness, I can usually do that. This choice makes being gay or lesbian quite dif­ferent from being African-American, Hispanic, Asian, or Native American. Of course, there are homosexuals who are also members of racial minorities, and these people undoubtedly face a double whammy at times.

On the scientific front, the American Psychiatric Association, the American Psychological Association, and the World Health Organization have all stated that homosexuality is not a mental disorder. It's generally accepted that homosexuality is not a learned behavior. One can't be recruited. Furthermore, curing homosexu­ality doesn't work because there is nothing to cure. It would be akin to curing left-handedness.

Throughout history, homosexuals have been dis­criminated against in various ways: shunning, depriv­ing them of their human rights, outright verbal and physical abuse, imprisonment, and even death. The Nazis considered homosexuals to be worse than Jews, forcing them to wear a pink triangle, which has since become a symbol for the gay/lesbian community. Today hate crimes still occur, but at least now they are usually tracked and prosecuted in most Western countries. 

By far the most important source of such discrimi­natory treatment is religious doctrine. Many sects of Islam and Judaism as well as some Christian faiths condemn homosexuality, and in Buddhism and Hindu­ism there seem to be mixed feelings toward same-sex relationships. So imagine being brought up in a reli­gious environment where you are taught that same-sex relationships are a sin, an abomination, even perhaps a capital crime—and then coming to the realization that you are one of them!

Because of homophobia and discrimination, homo­sexuals can have a particularly hard time acknowledg­ing their sexuality. It's impossible to grow up without recognizing that being gay or lesbian presents, at the least, unique problems.

It became clear to me early on in my coming out pro­cess that coming out did not just take place in a moment in time. I used to think that the answer to the question `Are you out?" was either yes or no. But coming out is a lifelong process. I still find myself in situations where I have to decide if it's important to be out as a gay man.

The first step in a homosexual's coming out process is coming out to oneself. Depending on the individual there can be a period of denial, where one might say to oneself, "Oh, all I need to do is find the right woman" (or man for a lesbian) or "Maybe I'll grow out of this." In some cases this may be true, but for most homosexu­als that won't happen. Then comes the recognition that "It's true ... I'm gay (or lesbian)," and this admission can be traumatic, often leading to self-hate.

While for some it is hard, the goal of coming out to oneself is to be able to say "It's OK to be gay or lesbian" and believe it.

Of course the next step, revealing yourself to family, friends, and others, often brings you right up against an environment that rejects homosexuality. I worked at a Seattle human service agency whose mission was helping high-risk youth— street kids. There was a high percentage of gay/lesbian-identified kids in this group. Most arrived on the street because of rejection in their home environment, in their school, or in their church. It was not uncommon to work with a kid whose parents had kicked their child out of their home because of his or her sexuality. I ran across more than one case where the parents actually drove their kids downtown and made them get out of the car.

Finally, we come to the matter of dating and finding a love partner. An important step in this quest is to be comfortable with your own sexuality. But beyond that, just finding someone to love can be difficult, particu­larly if one lives in area where there isn't a defined gay or lesbian community. 

There is a level of risk in exploring a relationship. Before you even come to the potentials for rejec­tion found in straight dating, there is the potential of rejection right up front that isn't found in a more tra­ditional coupling. It's the question "Is he (or she) gay (or lesbian)?" From my experience and the experiences of many gay and lesbian friends, this question is very difficult. With it you're coining out to this person, and if the person is straight, the response could be pretty ugly, even homophobic. This question is sometimes so troublesome that it keeps a homosexual single. While being single is not necessarily a bad thing, it is bad if the singleness persists because the person cannot get around this question.

Fortunately, in recent years more options have become available for meeting a same-sex partner. Gay and lesbian bars are still very much around, and it larger cities there are gay/lesbian social groups and events, many alcohol- and drug-free. Some religious denominations, like the Quakers and the Unitarians offer gay/lesbian activities. It's perhaps hard for straight person to imagine the feeling of walking into a gay or lesbian activity and realizing that this "Are you gay?" question is suddenly redundant. For me it amazing!

Being in a same-sex relationship doesn't remove the risk of homophobia. You're always aware that so people will have very negative reactions to a same sex couple. Coming out to your group of friends, your workplace, your church or synagogue, your Theosophical lodge—each of these presents a risk. Even walking into a restaurant in Middle America with your same sex partner can be scary. I guarantee you that my partner and I will act very differently going into a café in Seattle than into a restaurant in rural America. I was recently traveling in rural South Dakota, and though I was alone, I was very much aware that I had to watch myself and not display any gay flags as I went into diner for lunch.

How do you talk about your relationship, say at work? You may not be out as a gay/lesbian there, so how do you talk about the most important person in your life or respond when everyone else talks about their traditional relationships? And how do your parents react to all this? There are many sad stories of parents who reject their child's same-sex partner.

Fortunately, as I found in Seattle, there are support groups, particularly in larger cities. Some church are now very accepting of same-sex couples. Some performing same-sex marriage ceremonies. Same-sex marriage has also become a political issue. Some states have or are close to having laws that allow same-sex marriage, and President Obama has voiced his support of these laws.

What role did Theosophy play in helping me t accept my sexuality? I was raised in a Theosophical family. I learned, more by osmosis than by book study, the basic principles and concepts of Theosophy, such as brotherhood, the oneness of all life, the evolutionary journey of the soul, reincarnation, karma, and the multidimensional nature of the human being. 

But I got next to no spiritual guidance about emotions and bodily desires. Although my parents were idealistic and loving, I think they were just bound by societal taboos against talking about sex as other parents of my generation. I don't recall any con­versations about sex education at home or indeed dis­cussions about sexuality of any sort with Theosophists. So as I was becoming aware of my sexuality I looked for answers everywhere. I can remember going to the high school library and looking at all the books that had cita­tions on homosexuality. I didn't find much. I searched my Theosophical background to see if there were clues there. I didn't find any except what I considered to be a flip comment: "Well, maybe you were a woman in your last life." And while in some cases that could be true, my response to that was, "No, you don't get it. I'm a guy who likes guys."

I had and have true friends in Seattle—many The­osophists as well as people I met at the Theosophical Camp Indralaya on Orcas Island, Washington. One would think that such people would be relatively easy to come out to.

Not for me. Why? Because I couldn't yet see among them any support for me as a gay man, despite their relative lack of homophobia. So I found an open gay support and discussion group. There I made Mends with guys who had some sense of spirituality. I finally was able to date. It was still some time, though, before I could start the coming out process with my family and my longtime friends in the TS and at Camp Indralaya.

I remember one night at the Indralaya campfire when I was going to sing a love song I had written with same-sex lyrics. I usually sang the song in its straight version at camp. With the encouragement of a friend to whom I was out, I finally had the nerve to sing it with the gay lyrics. What happened? Well, not much. I think most listeners didn't notice, but some did and came up afterward and gave me a very accept­ing hug. I was finally able to take my then-partner up to Indralaya, and we could be there as an openly gay couple. It may not sound like a big deal, but it sure was to me.

Although I felt that my Theosophical background hadn't given me much guidance or understanding in terms of coming out, later I found it was extremely helpful when living through the AIDS crisis. It didn't explain to me why this was happening, but I could look at the events with a broader perspective that included reincarnation and karma. My Indralaya contacts with Dora Kunz and her teachings of Therapeutic Touch were particularly meaningful. Learning to channel the healing energy from a spiritual source rather than using my own energy was also useful and valuable. In 1991 I wrote an article titled "Living with AIDS" for The American Theosophist about my experiences in this crisis. 

 How can or should the Theosophical Society deal with the issue of homosexuality? Indralaya and many lodges are accepting of gays and lesbians. But that acceptance is of gays and lesbians who are out. I think the TS must be willing to discuss homosexuality and be openly supportive of gays and lesbians. This would show even closeted gays or lesbians that they are in a safe place, a place where they can come out to an accepting and supportive group of people. I think that for most TS members this would not be difficult, though I've been told that the Esoteric School of Theosophy is quite uncomfortable with the subject. But as I've come out to my Theosophical friends, with very few excep­tions, I have felt complete acceptance.

There might be a case for the inclusion of sexual ori­entation in the First Object of the Society, which speaks of a "universal brotherhood of humanity, without dis­tinction of race, creed, sex, caste, or color." While it would be interesting to see how the membership would respond to such a suggestion, the time is probably not right for this. But I do think it would be appropriate for individual lodges to have discussions on how Theo­sophy and Theosophists can support their gay/lesbian members. This could be a time of acceptance as well as a time of self-searching to see how we feel about this minority. I think it would be a time of discovery.

Lastly, I return to my overarching topic of love and ask the question, do all the issues I discussed above make the love in a same-sex couple different? No, I truly believe that a gay/lesbian love relationship is fundamentally the same as love between a man and a woman. There are all the joys, excitement, anxieties, tragedies, sadness, and spiritual ties in gay/lesbian love that are found in straight love. And in gay/lesbian lit­erature the love stories are being written. 

I don't think there's a gay Romeo and Juliet yet that will compete with Shakespeare's, but perhaps in time...

DAVID CHRISTENSEN joined the Theosophical Society in 1944. His family lived at Olcott in "the little white house on the corner" (of Main and Cole Street) from 1937 to 1950. In the '50s he went to the newly opened Happy Valley School, now called Besant Hill School, in Ojai, California, and to the TS Camp Indralaya on Orcas Island in Washington state, where he fell in love with the Northwest. He served two six-year terms on the board of the camp. He has been active in the gay community and has been an AIDS activist. He served for three years as a commissioner for the city of Seattle working with its gay/lesbian affairs office. He currently lives in Port Townsend, Washington,